


First Positions

by rebel_diamond



Series: Love on Ice [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle ice skating AU, There will be UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 14:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13977420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_diamond/pseuds/rebel_diamond
Summary: The first few months of Gold being Belle's skating coach.





	First Positions

They had less than a year until the ISU Grand Prix events and their coach had barely said a word to them. For weeks now he watched them from the sidelines with his unnerving glare. They ran through the same two minute and fifty second program they’d been practicing exclusively for almost a month. Belle swore she could see the deep creases between his eyes from across the ice. She craned her neck and checked his face after every element, causing her to repeatedly trip on her toe pick. Mostly he looked disinterested and somber, like a severe Scottish statue, his long hair skimming the corners of the dark pools of his eyes.

On the few occasions he would grace them with his brogue, he only spoke to them to correct them. Never to encourage them or tell them they were doing well or make small talk or try to get to know them. They only heard from him if they were doing badly. When training was over, he disappeared out a side exit. Gaston didn’t mind his indifference as much as she did. “He’s doing what we’re paying him to do,” he’d shrugged when she had pressed him. Her father told her Gold was renting a house in town. The salmon and green Victorian, which she couldn’t picture him in. Brooding on an overcast Scottish moor, yes. Buying toothpaste at Dark Star Pharmacy, no. She thought about asking her mother about him since they’d skated competitively around the same time, but she didn’t want to burden her with it. When her mother was feeling well enough to talk, Belle only wanted to speak of happy things. She didn't want her mother to think their training was suffering because of her health. Her mother asked how it was going, of course, but Belle would simply give her a bright, “Great!” and change the subject.

Belle and Gaston struck their final pose, catching their breath as the last notes of the _Summer of 42_ soundtrack faded over the sound system. They continued to hold in complete silence, expecting a clap, a word, a reaction of any kind.

“You’re dismissed,” echoed in the empty rink and Belle looked up to see Gold’s retreating back.

Not again. Belle didn’t know if she was lutzing or looping anymore. She had to know what he thought of them. She untangled herself from Gaston’s hold. “Mr. Gold?” she skated towards him but stopped short when he turned to face her. “How are we doing?” she ventured. “Is there anything we could be doing better?”

He squared his shoulders and fixed his stare on them. Belle immediately regretted asking but swallowed and forced herself to meet his eyes. He sauntered towards her and she felt herself begin to drift backwards on her skates. “One of you is always rushing, another lagging behind. You need to choreograph into and out of lifts. Miss French you’re too tight on the landing on the triple twist.” He leveled his gaze at Gaston, “LeGume, catch Miss French on her hips, not her back. You need to do footwork while you have her over your head, not just glide around and smile. And, if you want to compete at the senior level, you need side by side triple lutzes. You’ll need the base value going in.”

Belle opened and closed her mouth like a fish. It was the most words he’d ever spoken to them and she was still getting over the shock. But everything he’d said was right. All those hours he’d watched them, saying nothing, he really had been studying them. And he’d summed up their weaknesses neatly. Belle sensed the trepidation she always felt around him melt away. Everyone was so scared of him. Whispers and rumors followed in his wake. But he wasn’t really terrifying. He’d never coached before. He’d been away from the ice for years. Maybe it was him that was scared.

When they had nothing to say in response to his soliloquy, Gold shook his head, “I said you were dismissed,” he repeated.

Instead of following Gaston to the locker rooms like normal, she threw her skate guards on and chased after Gold. He heard her clomping after him and spun around, considering her warily. She perched on the bench nearest him and looked at him expectantly, halting his quick escape. “Why did you agree to coach us?”

He stiffened at the interrogation. “You obviously needed the help,” he replied flippantly.

It was the first funny thing he’d ever said to her. Sarcastic, grim and, most notably, evasive, but funny.

She gave him a look that said she knew what he was doing, “I think you missed this,” she asserted.

He scoffed, “Missed what? The early morning trainings? The sequins?”

She was undeterred, “If I’m going to know no other coach for the rest of my career,” she hazarded, “Can’t I at least get to know you?” She peered up at him with hopeful doe eyes.

He looked down at her and his eyes softened and she thought he was going to tell her the truth. The real motivation for moving halfway across the world to spend his every waking moment with them. But then she saw something behind his eyes shut her out.

“Why don’t you ask everyone else about me? They seem to have plenty of stories. I hear the internet even archived the most colorful ones.”

She sat up straighter, “I don’t believe what everyone else says about you,” she declared defiantly.

He considered her for a moment before taking a few steps toward her on the bench and leaning down over her shoulder, closer to her than he’d ever been. His breath tickled her ear and something lurched in her chest. “Maybe I’m worse,” he murmured darkly before standing up and striding away, “Be careful what you wish for, dearie,” he called. “You may not like what you find.”

_2 weeks later…_

“Miss French, stop popping. How many times do I have to tell you, it's better to rotate and fall!” She’d turned a double into a single on their side by side jumps again.

What Belle thought had been a breakthrough conversation two weeks ago, Gold had taken as an invitation to start hollering at her on a regular basis. She was fed up with his temper and bad moods. Could it be called a ‘mood’ if it was his default attitude? Belle narrowed her eyes as she sped by him. He was wearing his same long black wool coat with the collar flipped up. Underneath was a white shirt unbuttoned carelessly low and a scarf around his neck was tucked in the gap. All served to frame and accentuate his nonchalant stubble. He stood at the side of the rink like usual, being distractingly European. She could feel her blood pressure rising and abandoned the program she and Gaston were in the middle of to skate over to him.

“Belle, what are you doing?” Gaston groaned, slowing to a stop.

“I can’t help it!” she shouted at Gold as she glided towards him. “It’s self preservation. My body doesn’t want to fall.”

“Your body will do what I tell it to do!” he roared back. He seemed to catch the inadvertent suggestiveness of his statement too late. Belle noticed it too and purposefully let it hang in the air heavy between them. “And I’m telling it to stop popping,” he forced out.

Belle crossed her arms, “You could ask nicely,” she countered primly.

Gold leaned on the railing, gripping the edge tightly, “Nice doesn’t get you a Championship, dearie,” he hissed.

At that moment, Moe strolled in to check on their progress. He found Gaston sitting on the boards leisurely drinking water and his daughter standing in the middle of the ice with her hands on her hips, yelling. He glanced worriedly at Gaston, “What’s going on?”

Gaston hopped back down to the ice, “It’s Gold, you have to get rid of him. Belle can’t go five minutes without fighting with him. I spend more time refereeing than skating.”

Moe was bewildered, “Belle? My Belle? She never argues with anyone.”

“Well, she does now.” Across the ice the buzz of fighting reached a fever pitch.

“Miss French why aren’t you a singles skater if you’re so terrified of falling?” Belle squawked something unintelligible in response. “No, because that would require you to get high enough to make more than two rotations!”

“How about a change of pace, shall we?” Moe called out, hurrying across the ice and gesturing for Gaston to follow him. “Have you two shown Mr Gold your free program yet?” he prodded gently.

Belle had pivoted on her skates and was purposefully looking away from Gold but she could feel his hard stare on her. She focused on controlling her breath. Her face felt hot. Fighting with him had been exhilarating. She’d never fought with anyone before. She didn’t know she had those snappy comebacks in her. Fighting with him had felt flying too close to the sun.

“What's the free skate?” she heard Gold growl, anger still lingering in his voice.

“Romeo and Juliet,” Moe replied.

“Good,” Gold nodded in satisfaction, “classic.”

Belle’s heart dropped. They’d begun working on that program when she was sixteen. When she thought the tragic tale of the two lovers was dreamy. She didn't want to do anything so romantic now. She had heard the dismissiveness in Gold’s tone. He must have thought she was the perfect Juliet: young, naive, passive, in love. She didn't want him thinking any of those things about her.

“No,” Belle interjected. Moe and Gaston looked at her in surprise. “We've been working on something else.”

Gold sighed, “You have to commit to a program. It’s too late to change.”

“I want to do the one we’ve been trying out,” Belle insisted.

Gaston looked at Belle, “The prostitute one?”

She tried to hide her annoyance, “ _Moulin Rouge_ , yes.” They’d been working on it to pacify her and to break up the boredom and try some new things in practice. But secretly she’d been working really hard on the choreography and she thought it had been developing well. They’d shelved it when her mother had to step down from coaching but Belle had been finishing it in her head for weeks. It was a nice nod and wink to her mother’s home country, but something a little more grown-up. Looking forward to where she was going instead of looking back at who she’d been.

Gold surveyed Belle, “With you playing the role of a courtesan, Miss French?”

His tone was goading, almost disbelieving, but she refused to take the bait. She lifted her chin defiantly, “Yes.”

His eyes narrowed, “You’re right. That I would like to see.”


End file.
